


Birdsong

by idola



Category: Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fire Emblem Fusion, Denyuuden AU Week 2020, M/M, Tellius AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idola/pseuds/idola
Summary: Miran rescues one of the world's last heron laguz on his king's orders.
Relationships: Lucile Eris/Miran Froaude
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Birdsong

**Author's Note:**

> day 3 - animals

The window broke against his talons, shining with the colors of the setting sun as he forced his way into one of the nicest houses in the continent. He pushed his nails into the flowered wallpaper pasted against the wall on the other side, digging in and ruining both the pattern and the wall itself. What did he care if a beorc duke needed to replace something?

No, he did care. But only because that meant that the duke was still alive, which would mean he had failed in his job. He was not the type to leave loose ends.

Miran looked around once he was in. He had been expecting to need to look far. But he didn’t have to, in the end.

Yes, he had come to kill the duke. But that wasn’t his top objective.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes adjusted to the light indoors. His mission was to rescue an enslaved heron, and it didn’t take long for his eyes to focus on who that must be. 

The heron existed in faded colors, aside from his bright blue eyes. His wings were pure white. His hair was the shade of gold that one could only find in watercolors. Breathtaking, really. But even more breathtaking was the blood on his cheek… and the sword in his shaking hands.

It was clear from those angelic wings that he wasn’t dealing with a regular heron. He was dealing with royalty.

Herons were meant to be peaceful beings. They had frail bones, weak muscles, and were easily made sick by conflict. To see one - a prince no less - pressing a sword through a beorc’s chest, fingers quivering from the effort— 

“…Is the duke dead?” Miran asked.

The heron laughed. It showed great effort by the way his chest heaved. He could not survive here. “No,” he breathed. “Well, he might be. But not for long.”

“…I don’t…”

“Did you come to rescue me?” The heron asked, humor playing at his tone. But his fingers. His fingers were still shaking. His knuckles were still white. He was still pushing the sword down as hard as he could, despite the fact that his body was not made to kill.

“The king sent me,” Miran said.

“Then take me away, if you can,” the heron said. But he didn’t move. He continued to sit on the chest of a stabbed man, leaning on the sword as if to support his weight. Glass from the window had sprayed across the pool of blood, and they seemed to sparkle beneath him in the evening sun.

Miran blinked. Beautiful as it all was, he had to complete his mission. “Can you stand?”

The heron shook his head. His knuckles were still white. The blood on his cheeks was drying. “Either come quick or leave. He’ll wake any moment now.”

Miran nodded. His king had given specific instructions: rescuing the heron was his top priority. Investigation was his second. If the heron said to do something, then do it. The reason why was now painfully apparent. He was a royal heron. A prince. He far outranked Miran.

Typically Miran wouldn’t listen to instructions that he couldn’t agree with. But this heron clearly knew what he was talking about. He was in his element, so to speak - a captured animal knew his captor better than any others. So if he said that the duke would be up in moments to finish whatever fight they had been in the midst of, then Miran would believe it.

“Change forms,” the heron commanded when he approached. “My arms are broken. I won’t be able to hold on well… You’ll have to use your arms.”

Miran nodded and traded the majority of his feathers for skin. Only the wings on his back remained as proof that he was a raven. He lifted the heron off his sword and helped his arms onto his back. He was lighter than most birds, and didn’t have the largest frame. As awkward as it was to fly with another like this, it would be possible.

“Hurry,” the heron whispered in his ear. “Unless you want to give the duke another pretty pet…” 

Miran shivered at the sensation of warm breath in his ear and nodded. He stood on the windowsill rather clumsily, considering he had a limp body in his arms, and jumped from it - from the third floor - to give his wings room to spread.

It would soon be night. Bird laguz might not do well in the darkness, but beorcs didn’t either. And Miran was familiar with the area. Marquess Froaude had lived quite nearby, after all.

It was unfortunate that he’d come when he did, but His Majesty’s intel stated that dinner was the only time Duke Lieutolu, the beorc who had captured this heron, relaxed enough for an attack like this. So he hadn’t much of a choice. Besides, he felt comfortable in his ability to find somewhere nearby to rest for the night. If they were found, he could always fly away again… though it’d be difficult if a real army happened upon them somehow.

The heron was quiet throughout the flight aside from his quick, warm breaths in his ear. Miran tried to adjust him to no avail. Deadweights were difficult at times like this. Distracting.

But they needed to stop soon anyway, so he started his descent not long after they reached a forest. It was noble territory, but everywhere around here was. The important thing was that there were no guards nearby. It was a night like any other, after all.

It didn’t take too long to find a hollow large enough to hide a heron royal’s white wings from any eyes that might happen upon them.

“What should I call my savior?” The heron asked in a joking tone. It was… profoundly unserious. It said he thought he’d have been fine by himself.

Miran could have laughed.

The heron’s arms and legs were bruised horribly, and evidently they were all broken in several places. Yes, he was fighty alright. But herons had no reason to be. They were far too frail.

“If you mean me, my name is Miran.” Although beorcs had surnames, laguz did not; though admittedly, years ago, his ‘owner’ had gotten an amount of joy from hiding Miran’s wings and taking him into public, posing as his father, the father of a ‘Miran Froaude.’ But now that was unnecessary. Now he was only Miran.

“Miran,” the heron repeated. “I am Lucile. Fourth prince of Serenes…”

…Fourth prince… Miran nodded. He hadn’t been privy to the details. The Serenes Massacre which killed the vast majority of the herons had been a quiet event ten years ago. One day they were there, and the next they weren’t. Two had been saved from beorcs since then - both royal princesses. And now he had found the fourth prince.

“Is Ferris with your king?” Lucile asked. “Iris?”

“……” 

It was mysterious, really.

The natural conclusion was that the beorcs had burnt the herons’ forest down with the intention to kill, but deemed the royalty far too brilliant to simply murder, and sold them into slavery instead. That would explain why the royal herons alone were popping up here and there in slavery. But there were things it failed to explain, too.

Why did His Majesty Sion know where the enslaved herons were?

Why did Lucile, who had been a duke’s toy for ten years now, know the names of the only two royal girls who had been recovered? If Miran recalled correctly, there were ten royal children in total. Ferris and Iris were the youngest two, and he believed Lucile was the third youngest. Was that the only reason Lucile asked? Because they were his only two younger siblings?

“…They are with His Majesty,” Miran finally said.

Lucile visibly relaxed. “Good. I take it you’re taking me to him as well.”

“Yes, in the morning. Flying with bright white wings on my back through the heart of beorc territory at night is likely to compromise this mission.” Normally he’d risk it. But he was more interested in hearing what Lucile had to say before His Majesty took him in.

Lucile nodded.

Miran surveyed Lucile’s wounds once more. He’d been sent with a variety of medical supplies, seeing as herons were naturally frail and exceptionally easy to wound during the rescue process. But he wasn’t sure that it would be enough for wounds like this. Beorc magic would be far more useful. Though of course Laguz had no such luxury.

“Please allow me to bandage your wounds,” Miran said. He’d have to at least try. Otherwise Lucile’s injuries might become infected and ruin his mission. And he preferred to return home successfully.

Lucile held up his right arm to the best of his ability. “This is a compound fracture. It’ll take months.” Then his left arm. “This one is simple in comparison. I might regain function in a few weeks… as long as you ravens have enough food for me to heal.”

“…Food has been no problem thus far with the princesses… We are not as poor as you seem to think.”

“Haha. Whether you have food and whether Sion offers it to me are two completely different things.”

“What do you mean?” Miran asked, his interest piqued. “His Majesty is exceptionally kind.” 

“…You’re surprisingly earnest,” Lucile said, then leaned closer. Close enough that Miran could feel his breath again. He was still breathing quickly, as though he was in pain. But it didn’t show in his expression at all. In fact, now that Miran was getting a good look at him… 

“……”

It was no surprise that Lucile looked as dead as he did, knowing that he had spent the past ten years of his life in a beorc duke’s house. Miran glanced back at Lucile’s wings. Clipped. Most were, in the ‘care’ of beorcs… so it truly wasn’t surprising. And yet he couldn’t suppress his body’s urge to shiver as he looked.

“I like you,” Lucile said. “Miran. You seem interesting.”

“…For some reason, your compliment does not feel sincere…” 

“I’m glad that Sion sent you to come get me. But it’s also very mean of him. Because you’re the perfect picture of a beorc’s ideal slave.” Lucile picked his left arm up to touch Miran’s hair. “So silky…”

“…It is due to His Majesty’s confidence in my ability… that I was assigned to this job, I mean.” He tilted his head to move Lucile’s hand from his hair. “Not that my hair…” 

“……”

“……” 

“If you say so,” Lucile finally said. He was smiling. As if it was something funny.

How rude. “What makes you believe otherwise?”

Lucile shrugged. “Just a hunch. You’re the type of person he hates. I am too.”

Interesting. “Were you… acquainted with His Majesty?”

“You could say that,” Lucile said. But he did not elaborate.

Miran was not sure how old Lucile was, but His Majesty was 119. He had come into power around a decade ago. Around the time the Serenes Massacre occurred.

Now that Miran was thinking about it, had those two events… been related? Had the Serenes Massacre helped Sion gain power during the final stages of the ravens’ civil war? Miran had been in Marquess Froaude’s manor at the time. He didn’t know the details even now… 

But Lucile? Perhaps Prince Lucile did?

“…Prince Lucile, do you—”

“In any case. In any case… did you bring anything to eat? Duke Lieutolu had set dinner out, but I had the urge to stab him and neglected to eat it…”

“…Is that a typical occurrence?”

“Haha. Yes. His face begs for it.”

“I see. I did not bring anything, but… the princesses’ song healed the forest,” Miran said and stood. Nowadays it was nothing but beorc nobles’ land. Perhaps Lucile did not recognize it anymore, but in truth, they were in a forest near the old Serenes forest, the herons’ old country - this would have been around the border. So it should have the same species, and be just as abundant with fruits and nuts as the forest itself.

“You’re offering to forage for me? How kind…”

Miran frowned. Everything Lucile said was somehow… well, it did not seem sincere. Perhaps it was his eyes, or his smile. Neither looked honest.

Then again, people often said the same of Miran.

“I am not especially familiar with a heron’s diet, so I apologize if I should bring you something poisonous.”

“Haha. I appreciate the warning.”

“You will call for help if a beorc appears?”

“Depends on how much force I can get through broken arms.”

…So Lucile would choose to fight even in this situation, would he. “Earlier, you said that your captor… the duke… would revive,” Miran said. “By some beorc magic, I assume. Do you expect that he will search for you?”

“No… no, he won’t,” Lucile said. “He won’t come for me personally, and he won’t send an army.”

How odd. “He would just let you go?”

“Yes. If Sion came to rescue me, he would let me go.”

“Are you… implying that His Majesty caused your imprisonment?”

“He didn’t cause it, but he allowed it to continue for a decade. Out of spite, I imagine.”

“I see.”

“How long was yours?”

Miran blinked. “Excuse me?”

“……”

And of course at times like this, Lucile refused to elaborate. He just watched. As if expecting something. 

Miran’s eye twitched. “Prince Lucile, you seem in wonderful health considering everything, but perhaps you are a bit tired?” He crouched back down next to Lucile, who was still nestled in the crook of a rotting tree. “If you do not want me to get you something to eat, then I must insist that I at least bandage your wounds.”

He reached out and gripped Lucile’s wrist.

Lucile’s face remained blank. He was a heron and Miran wasn’t exactly being gentle, so it should have hurt. But it didn’t show if it did. Not at all. He just smiled. “I believe you’ve just added to your workload.”

Miran relaxed his grip. “I apologize, Prince Lucile.” He glanced down to Lucile’s wrist. To his thick blue veins. He moved his hand up to follow them. The motion moved his sleeve up.

Lucile tried to pull away, but his hand was weak and he was cornered against the tree. So Miran’s hand crept up his arm, up the open cuts and fine glass from the window, and up thin red lines, too crisp to be blood.

“…Ah…”

It was a familiar pattern - not one that Miran had seen on flesh, no; it was, however, a mark common in history.

It was the mark of a blood pact.

“You were tricked… for Serenes…?”

Miran’s grip had weakened again, so Lucile pulled his hand away. “I inherited it. One could say that blood pacts are the curse of all royalty. At this point, nearly every country on the continent probably has one somewhere.”

“…His Majesty wouldn’t…”

Lucile laughed.

He didn’t need to say anything at all. His laughter in itself was a confirmation of its own. Yes, it said. Yes, Sion _would_ have a blood pact. Why else would he mourn every single step he took, every choice he made? 

“……”

“Are you surprised?” Lucile asked quietly. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Miran didn’t respond. He was unsure of what to say.

At least… at the very least, this line of question revealed one thing. If Lucile inherited the blood pact, he was aware that all of his older siblings and parents were dead. He would not bother to ask about anyone but his younger sisters. He already knew that they had met a bloody end.

Lucile’s eyes slid down to the medical supplies.

That was enough to snap Miran out of his thoughts. He untied a pouch of vulnerary and dipped a couple fingers into the paste. He brought it to Lucile’s wrist.

Lucile exhaled as if the cool herbs were somehow comforting. He allowed Miran to rub it against his open cuts and dig out the larger shards of glass without interruption.

“…Do you follow the terms of the blood pact?” Miran asked. “Serenes is no more.”

“……”

“No… I see,” Miran said. “It does exist, doesn’t it. But it is a country of three.” 

The terms of a blood pact were simple.

The marked was subordinate to whoever’s pact they signed. They had to do everything that the one who had them sign the contract said to do or else the pact would be invoked. And once it was invoked… 

On the first day, one of the marked’s countrymen would die.

On the second day, two would die.

That was all it’d take for Lucile.

The blood pact could be stopped even after it was invoked by returning to obedience. But the dead would not be brought back to life. So if he rebelled for just two days, he and his sisters would be dead. It wouldn’t take weeks or months of disobedience. Just two days.

“…I suppose you’ve determined that allowing me to remove you from the duke’s manor is not in violation of your terms,” Miran said.

“It isn’t.”

“Neither is stabbing the duke?”

“I can stab him however many times I wish.”

“Haha. You are quite familiar with the terms of your contract, then.”

It was an invite, but Lucile did not take it. He remained quiet as Miran felt around his wrist for the bones he’d broken. “Is it just your wrist and arms?”

Lucile attempted to wriggle his fingers to no avail.

“…Noted. Your legs? Ribs?”

“My ribs are fine. But…”

Lucile managed to scoot a little closer with the help of his palms. Miran moved back to allow him to attempt to stand.

An attempt was all that it was, though. His legs shook too much to get him off the ground.

“Does this happen… often?” Miran asked. He’d dealt with the heron princesses before on occasion, but they were always full of energy. They never seemed as though their bodies gave them trouble. But they also lived on the rocky coasts of the ravens’ country. They were far from beorcs, which meant that they were far from danger. They could play as though nothing else mattered.

Lucile was a bit different, though. As the heir to Serenes, he was also heir to a blood pact. A single mistake would end his bloodline in two days’ time. He didn’t have the luxury of playing in the ocean as a day job. His limbs had been subject to the whims of a duke for the past ten years, and his heron limbs were not nearly as strong as a raven’s… 

“Usually the duke heals me,” Lucile said. “Beorc magic is quite advanced.”

“…I see.” Beorc nobility was all the same, wasn’t it. Duke Lieutolu probably got some sexual gratification from beating and healing a heron prince day after day. Miran was not surprised. A laguz in the ‘care’ of beorcs lived that sort of life. “I apologize, but beorc magic is a bit…”

“Outside of your realm of expertise,” Lucile finished. “Yes, I’m sure. You’ve already proven that your wings aren’t just for show.” He pushed his own wings back into the hollow. Although Miran was more than capable of dealing with a few beorc, it was certainly safer to keep Lucile’s most expensive qualities out of sight. “You’ve rescued me and tended to my wounds. I’ll be sure to tell Sion that you’ve been excellent.”

“Thank you…” 

Lucile moved to one side of the hollow. “I think there’s room for you too.”

“I plan to keep watch.”

“You can keep watch from inside.”

It was a bit… odd. Not knowing what angle exactly Lucile was trying to appeal to him from. Still, Miran maintained his polite refusal. “It would be difficult to fight from the inside,” Miran insisted. “If I needed to transform, it would break your hiding place.”

“So would fire magic from a beorc who wanted to burn me alive.”

“True. But if you are asking me to choose between burning to death with you and leaving His Majesty confused on the events that occurred here or living to report back, I would typically choose the second option.”

“Haha. You are a very loyal person, aren’t you?”

“…Thank you.”

Once again, Miran was unsure of the angle Lucile was trying to approach from. Though he understood that the sharpness of the angle was lacking. If anything, Lucile seemed rather happy to talk to him. Perhaps he was feeling starved of laguz contact after living with a beorc for so long.

Miran looked around from where he sat crouched in front of the hollow where Lucile was hiding. His hair, wings, and clothes were all dark and made ideal cover from the night. But his eyes weren’t suited to it. He couldn’t see three feet past his face. Lucile was the farthest tangible thing he could see.

“Can you really fight against a beorc in the dark?” Lucile asked.

“Better than most ravens.”

“I see. I suppose I’ll rely on you, then.”

“Please do.”

“Heheh. You’re so reliable.”

“…Thank you,” Miran said. He still didn’t believe that Lucile’s compliments were in any way sincere. But there was no real point in continuously denying them. Perhaps thanking him instead would make him give up.

In any case, one thing was certain. Regardless of any shared past that this heron prince and His Majesty may have, they were two very different people.

Despite the fact that Prince Lucile’s wounds would be best served by food and a good night’s sleep, it had already become too dark to search for fruits and nuts for him, and Lucile showed no signs of sleeping. Though he’d go quiet and close his eyes, the tension never left his body and his breathing never evened out. It remained rugged and uneven from pain.

“Prince Lucile?”

“What is it?” Lucile’s response was instant. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, was he. 

“You are aware of who His Majesty’s blood pact binds him to serve?”

“I am.”

Just as he thought, then. “Who might it be?”

“Who do you think?”

“A beorc country, I suppose… Most likely someone in Gastark.”

“……”

“Is that not correct?”

“It’s not,” Lucile said.

Interesting. If not Gastark, then it was likely an old contract. One established by the previous king, or perhaps one before him. Perhaps their longstanding rivals, the hawks, had forced them into it. “Estabul?”

“Also incorrect. And don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not answering your guesses one by one all night.”

“But if I were to figure it out…”

Lucile laughed. “You won’t figure it out tonight. Not with certainty. I will tell you that.”

So Lucile said. But he was forgetting something important. Miran turned to face him. Lucile was bright in the darkness, even to a raven’s eyes.

Miran raised his arms… and put his hands around Lucile’s pale neck. He did not squeeze. He might squeeze later, but for now, this notion was enough. “Are you sure?”

Lucile just smiled. “Wouldn’t that be a funny conversation. ‘Yes, I rescued the heron, but afterwards I killed him because I was nosy.’ Haha.”

“What difference does it make if I kill you or not? I highly doubt that there is anything you can do that I cannot,” Miran said. He began to squeeze. “That being said, I would appreciate it if you would answer me. Who, or what, is His Majesty’s blood pact tied to?”

Lucile just continued to smile.

Something about it made the hairs on the back of Miran’s neck raise. He gulped.

Unfortunately, Lucile was rather bright. His eyes flicked to the movement in Miran’s neck despite the darkness. “Do you know… that herons can sense emotion?”

“……”

“Jealousy… is it.”

“If you were to die, the burden of your own pact would fall to one of your sisters, correct?” Miran asked. “Are you aiming to put one of them in your own delicate position?”

Lucile did not respond.

Miran squeezed harder. Hard enough to cut off Lucile’s air entirely. “If you wish to comply, close your eyes. If not…”

Herons were a delicate species. This amount of choking could collapse his trachea and kill him. The threat was most certainly real.

Still, Lucile stared. His eyes were a clear blue that seemed to lead straight back into his mind… and see straight into Miran’s in turn. Slowly, slowly, he closed them.

“…As I expected, your sisters… are quite the weakness,” Miran said. He loosened his hold just enough for Lucile to speak.

Lucile did not rise to his provocation. He coughed, gasped, and then cleared his throat once he was able to control his breath enough to speak. “If you really must know… Sion’s pact would move to the hands of another even if you killed the other party. Unless you destroyed the physical, signed contract of his pact and killed Sion, of course.”

“…So it was signed by several people?”

“By a family.”

“…Which family?”

Lucile closed his eyes once more… and smiled. “You seem to think that you can win against me no matter what, since I’m a heron. But is that really true?”

“What exactly do you mean?” Miran asked. “Your lies have no effect on me. It is impossible that you, a heron, have the advantage. You are unable to move on your own. Your arms are broken. Your legs are likely the same. If you are thinking of singing a galdrar, then, well… I have to laugh. Obviously you cannot sing one if I am strangling you. Your moves are so limited that they are practically nonexistent. Either you tell me and live or you stay quiet and die.”

“Haha. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Miran pressed a long, painted nail into Lucile’s throat. “Further provocation will result in your death.”

“Then you will search my body, with nothing else to do until the sun rises, touch the medallion, and go mad.”

“The medallion?”Miran repeated. He’d heard the word before, of course, but never as anything important. He searched his mind, but nothing came up. “What are you…?”

“You don’t even know that?” Lucile asked. He lifted a shaky arm to touch Miran’s cheek. His finger was cold. Unnaturally so. “You don’t know of the medallion, but here you are, asking about blood pacts and sticking your nose into politics you won’t understand…”

“……”

“Still… I’m rather fond of your enthusiasm,” Lucile said. “So I’ll ask you a question. You may give either answer. I will not harm you for either choice.”

Miran tilted his head, a bit confused.

“From what you have seen of Sion in my absence… do you believe him to be the ideal king?” Lucile asked.

“His Majesty has every quality necessary for a successful rule. If anyone is to eventually gain full control of the continent, I believe that it should be him.”

“I see… Full control. Haha. I see. That would require quite a bit of war, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Miran said. “But that is a sacrifice that he is willing to take. If it weren’t, he would not be as suited to being king as he is.”

“Mm. What, then, should Sion do if war itself would cause the end of humanity? The death of all beorc and laguz?”

“I suppose the end of humanity is unavoidable then, as war itself is.”

“And what if it ends during your lifespan due to your own actions?”

“…You are awfully philosophical for someone in such a delicate situation,” Miran said. 

“If your goal is to give power to Sion, then I am the best way to give it to him,” Lucile said. “But if you use me, the end of the world is inevitable.”

“……”

“Sion would die, too. We all would.” 

“……”

“But in the last moment before his death, Sion would be the most powerful man in the world.”

“……”

“Ha, haha.” Lucile drew a cold finger across Miran’s cheek. “Your expression is really so…”

“You should get some sleep, Prince Lucile. Tomorrow’s journey will be long.”

Lucile did not sleep. But he at least kept quiet until sunrise.

\---

In the morning Miran found a fig tree and stripped a branch of its crop for Lucile. Then he caught food for himself as Lucile picked at his figs nearby, and once they were finished eating, they were off.

Lucile still couldn’t get a good hold on his transformed back, and carrying a heron prince with his talons or beak was hardly appropriate. If they had a rope, then perhaps… but they didn’t. So travel was inconvenient and took some days before they returned home.

Then, as soon as they were back, Miran presented Prince Lucile to his king.

“I have recovered the prince of Serenes,” Miran said and bowed.

“…Lucile,” Sion said. “I can’t say that you look well.”

Lucile smiled. He held out a broken arm, neatly wrapped in gauze. “Your retainer did a good job of bandaging me. It feels better already.”

“……”

“Though he did not kiss it better.”

Sion just scowled. “Surely that isn’t all you have to say after ten years.”

“What do you want me to say?” Lucile asked. “I assume you must need my help with something, seems as you so graciously sent for me.”

“…I also would like to know that,” Miran said and stood without waiting for Sion to motion for him to rise. “Might it have something to do with the blood pacts?”

Sion sighed. “So you knew.”

At times like this, a bluff was best. “Yes. Why else would you want Prince Lucile specifically to return?”

“It’s complicated,” Sion said. “Whether Lucile chooses to enact the blood pact against me or not, he is still an extremely powerful being. He has the medallion. It’s a shame that he was unable to do anything to Duke Lieutolu in the past ten years… Really, I’d expected more.”

That… explained it, then. Why His Majesty would leave a heron prince in beorc hands for so long.

“You would not have been able to harm him either,” Lucile said. “Unless you decided to put his pitiful branded son out of his misery. Haha. I know you won’t, though…” 

Sion did his best to avoid reacting to Lucile’s clearly inflammatory words. Miran did not need to know who Lucile was talking about to know that his words were meant to stab straight through Sion. It was obvious from his tone and the way he looked at Sion.

“…Lucile, would you mind leaving?” Sion finally asked.

Lucile shrugged. He was there one second, gone the next.

Miran blinked. In the few days that it’d taken to return home, apparently Lucile had regained quite a bit of his mobility… 

“Heron princes are strong,” Sion explained. “There are many things that they are capable of doing that we aren’t.”

Heron princes were strong, he said. Heron princes, who broke their own bones instead of their enemies if they tried to fight. “Such as?”

“Have you ever heard of the Dirge of Ruin?” Sion asked.

“I have not, but judging by the name… might it be a galdr meant to kill?”

Sion nodded. “It can kill more beorc faster than our beaks and talons ever could.”

If that was the case, then it made sense why they would keep someone as dangerous as Lucile around. However. “I recall that Princess Ferris is a bit less—”

“That’s not possible,” Sion said. “Yes, it makes logical sense to trade Lucile for one of his sisters. But neither have the same power he does. They need to be taught his abilities, and he won’t teach them. He never will.” Another sigh.

“…I see.”

So they had no choice but to use Lucile, then. Despite the risks.

Miran had never been particularly afraid of risks. Dying just wasn’t a big deal to him. And it did make sense, logically. 

A beorc had a blood pact on Lucile, who apparently had a blood pact on Sion.

If they went against Lucile, their blood pact would be invoked. If Lucile went against the beorc, his blood pact would be invoked. That meant that Sion couldn’t go against beorc either, even though that was their end goal. To overthrow the beorc and rule in their place.

“So our priority is destroying Prince Lucile’s blood pact,” Miran said.

Sion nodded.

“And it is with Duke Lieutolu, who I met just the other day, I assume?”

Another nod.

“Why, then, did Prince Lucile request that I leave him instead of kill him? If he were to die with the blood pact destroyed, then…”

“Lucile must have judged that it was impossible,” Sion said.

“But I could have at least found the physical contract and destroyed it. Killing Prince Lucile afterwards would be a trivial matter, and the contract is void as long as one party and the paper are destroyed—”

“Impossible,” Sion said. “He has the medallion.”

The medallion again. It just kept coming back to that medallion.

Seeing his confused face, Sion sighed once more and began to explain. “The medallion is… well, it sounds unbelievable. But there is a dark god inside of that medallion. If the world turns to war, it will awaken.”

“…Where exactly is the issue?” Miran asked. “Will it change anything by awakening?”

“Lucile’s family is capable of using the Galdr of Release to cause it to wake up at any time,” Sion said.

“So we can assume that waking it is not catastrophic… I see. Then it’s no real issue.”

Sion shrugged. “You’d think. But that’s not the only problem with it. If any one of us were to touch the medallion, we’d go insane.”

“……”

“That’s what happened to the previous king,” Sion said and stood.

“…We cannot accomplish anything in this world if we’re chained by blood pacts and dark gods,” Miran said. Because that was what His Majesty was trying to say. That was the conclusion that he was being guided to.

He could agree with that. But he could not agree with His Majesty’s other conclusion: that killing Lucile would be pointless.

Perhaps they would lose the Dirge of Ruin, and perhaps they would lose the Galdr of Release. But the blood pact itself would transfer to Prince Lucile’s foolish sister. Surely that would be worth it.

“……”

But would killing Lucile enact his blood pact against the ravens?

Miran excused himself. Twenty steps outside of the throne room, he spoke to a vague feeling of being watched. “Prince Lucile?”

“…What is it?”

Miran turned to where the voice came from. There Lucile stood, in his bruised and bandaged glory. Princess Ferris’ bandages were always covered in abstract drawings by her younger sister. But Lucile’s remained untouched. As if he did not take the opportunity to go see his little sisters.

Or perhaps he had gone, and was simply an outsider to his own family, an existence separate from the lazy play his sisters constantly engaged in. Miran could understand that.

“What are the terms of your blood pact with His Majesty?” Miran asked.

Lucile laughed. It was a beautiful sound. But it was a fabricated sort of beauty. Unrealistic and unreliable. “Are you wondering if it’d activate if you killed me?”

“……”

“It would,” Lucile said. “It would activate and you’d gain nothing. Unless of course you also managed to dispose of the contract.”

“…Perhaps,” Miran said. Though he was not convinced.

“If you’re looking to take risks, then why don’t you pursue a more beneficial risk?” Lucile asked. He pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning on and took several steps over, so that he stood too close to Miran. So that he could stand on his toes to press his lips against his ear. “Instead of picking off my family one by one, why don’t you let my blood pact do it? Why don’t you use my power against the beorc…?”

Miran’s breath caught in his throat.

He suddenly understood why His Majesty left Lucile for dead for ten years despite his numerous ‘uses.’ It was because he was dangerous.

Blood pacts were used to control people. But they were useless against people without a conscience.

What did it matter to Miran if Lucile’s blood pact activated and killed the remaining herons?

What did it matter to Miran if they traded a few thousand citizens of Roland for the complete annihilation of beorc?

“I can make it happen,” Lucile whispered into his ear.

“But you wouldn’t.” Miran said. “It would cause your pact to…”

“Haha. You’re correct,” Lucile said. But he didn’t pull away. “You’re absolutely correct. I thought so. You are a capable person… so that’s enough jokes. I’ll ask you for real. What do you think I was asked to do?”

“…Excuse me?”

Lucile’s cold fingers brushed his cheek. “My pact is with a duke. Not the beorc in general. If I don’t displease the duke…”

“You would invoke your destructive magic… I see. But beorc are made of greed… as are laguz.”

“That they are… But there are incomprehensible beorc just as there are incomprehensible laguz.”

“What do you mean?” Miran asked. He hadn’t meant to, but due to Lucile’s proximity, he ended up speaking quietly.

“What if there were a beorc who was interested in awakening the dark god?”

The dark god… The medallion, then. The one that Lucile could release the god from. “Then he would only need to ask you.”

Lucile shook his head. “I have the melody, but not the lyrics. I cannot release it myself. The other half is with someone else. Someone who won’t play along with our game.” 

“Then… you would need a war…?”

“Yes. You’re catching on, aren’t you?” Lucile asked. He was close enough that each movement of his mouth brushed against Miran’s ear.

It took a certain amount of effort to focus on Lucile’s words rather than him breathing into and nearly kissing his ear. “Your… Duke Lieutolu, correct? If he knew that… ah, I see. Yes. You plan to enact your pact, don’t you. You plan to enact it and only withdraw its effects if His Majesty goes to war. You will do it to keep him from hesitating. He kept you away for ten years due to that hesitation, but now, he has accepted that it is time to move forward…”

“Heheh. That’s right. That’s exactly right. You will be a part of it, won’t you. You will fight… and cause the death of the world the moment Sion stands on top of it.”

Miran shivered.

If it meant accomplishing all of their goals, of course he would fight. Even if it meant the end of the world. If it was going to end someday anyway, then shouldn’t he at least end it in the moment it shined the brightest?

**Author's Note:**

> radiant dawn is my favorite game ever but i often think about how convoluted blood pacts could make the world. lucile especially hasnt had much luck here... either he refuses to play a part in ending the world and lets his sisters die to save everyone else, or he elongates his sisters' lives by a few months and kills the rest of the world with them. the choice is obvious!
> 
> (of course there's something that the other half of the galdrar could do, but it'd take enraging the medallion to make him do it in the first place, i think. so option 2 is really the only option)
> 
> as for the miraluci.. lucile just has flirt with handsome men disease. it happens.


End file.
